Quest for the Lost Sight
by scarlacat
Summary: "...to save the lost sight the hero must fall…" The Oracle's newest prophecy comes not a moment too soon. Risky rescues, defeating the monsters, and stopping the world's end: it's what every hero dreams of doing. But Alex Jackson isn't that sure of his status as a hero, and it looks like the Fates aren't giving him much time to work it out!
1. Prologue

Here is my first foray into fanfiction for PJO. My original writing hit a roadblock, and so I'm keeping the fires burning by trying out this idea that has been niggling for a while.

Disclaimer: All rights of the original author respected. Any characters not found in the original books are either imagined by me or pulled out of mythology.

**P****ROLOGUE**

The icy wind bit through the layers of clothing she wore as she vainly tried to rub feeling back into her arms. Glancing to her side, Rachel noticed that her companions weren't faring much better. Summer should have been dancing in the air; they had not been prepared for this sudden taste of the extreme arctic in eastern Maine.

Rachel sighed and motioned for the girls to follow her back to their rented cabin. Tomorrow they could return to Long Island, and the balmy peace of strawberry fields and Camp Half-Blood. As she walked, the woman twisted strands of her red hair around her fingers and reflected through the past week's activities. Percy would be pleased. The locals on this coast-line had done amazing things in an attempt to revive the marine life. Rachel's coaxing had also brought two local influential businesses to the table with promises of sponsorship.

The Poseidon Foundation was the leading crusader in North American marine conservation. Rachel strongly suspected that at least half of the momentum the project had gained in the early days was due to the fact that its founder was young, passionate and extremely good-looking. Percy's unassuming charm had won them scores of supporters. These days he tended to stay out of the spotlight and in the field, leaving the harassment of big business to her, which suited Rachel. Never afraid to go into battle, the fiery redhead usually walked away with a win.

The wind was growing in intensity as Rachel ushered the girls inside. The small two-bedroom cabin was hardly warmer than the outdoors, but at least the walls were sealed against the minions of the North Wind.

Hala shook off her silver hood first and instantly set to restoring heat to the frosty cabin. Jennie unzipped her jacket as she headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Vera settled in to a post by the door, alert and on guard. Despite her initial protests, Rachel had grudgingly become accustomed to her constant companions every time she set foot outside the Camp. In fact, the argument she'd had with her patron had become legendary; few people could say they'd argued with a god so explosively and still walked away unscathed. Three years on and Rachel could honestly say that her current rotation of guards was her favourite. Hala and Jennie were particularly efficient; they ran the necessities of life like clockwork, leaving Rachel's mind free to pursue business and other eccentricities. Vera was the only oddity. Relatively new to the Hunt, she reminded Rachel of a brave little seal pup in a school of slick dolphins.

"I'm just going to make a quick call," Rachel told them. She pulled out a large crystal dangling on a string from a box of art supplies, and stepped into her bedroom.

With a light shining, Rachel twirled the crystal and dug a large gold coin from her pocket. "O Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, accept my offering. Show me Annabeth." She tossed the coin at the rainbow being cast on the wall. It disappeared, and a window opened in the air to reveal a blonde woman with her back to Rachel, intently studying an assortment of blueprints.

"Annabeth!" Rachel called.

Annabeth turned with a start, knocking a cup of pencils to the floor. "Rachel! Ah, damn!" Kneeling down, she scooped up the cup and dropped the pencils back into it. "I'm glad you called – I was just thinking about you when I saw the news. Two deaths in one week on the Maine coast – when are you leaving?"

Rachel laughed. "Tomorrow, but remember – I'm not the one who attracts trouble like a magnet. Besides, those accidents happened near Brunswick, not here. Not all trouble is related to us, Annabeth."

Annabeth frowned. "I know, I know. How is there then?"

"Freezing. I'm looking forward to getting back to my cave tomorrow," Rachel confessed as she enviously took note of the bright sunshine framing her friend. "After a week of non-stop talking, would you believe I'm looking forward to some solitude?"

Annabeth laughed. "Yes, well, that's one of the reasons I don't mind being dragged to San Francisco. With Percy 20,000 leagues deep there's usually some peace. When I'm on my own there also seems to be fewer monsters to handle."

Rachel laughed. "No surprises there."

Annabeth smiled. "Were you looking for Percy?"

"Yes, but never mind. Let him know I'll fill him in on the details of my trip when he's back."

"All positive?" Annabeth asked.

"Yup, everything except the temperature."

Rachel's friend frowned. "Are you in the middle of a storm over there? What's that noise?"

"Just the wind. It seems to have quickly worked itself into a gale."

Annabeth shuddered. "Sounds like a monster throwing a tantrum against your window."

Rachel grinned at the description, and her fingers itched for a sketch book to create the scene.

"And your little minders, how are they doing?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "They're alright, not overly chatty, but pleasant enough. How's our boy doing?"

"I don't know," Annabeth said, chewing on the end of her thumb. "He's quieter than usual. I'm thinking maybe he shouldn't stay at Camp all summer. Maybe he needs to go to Montauk, or Sally's …". Annabeth stopped as suddenly Rachel sat bolt upright. Green smoke curled from her mouth and swirled around her eyes. When she spoke, it was with a raspy voice:

"_The hero divided shall lead foe and friend. _

_One choice to change a life and one choice to end _

_The one who is true shall lose most of all, _

_And to save the lost sight the hero must fall." _

A door slammed shut elsewhere in the cabin, and Rachel's eyes refocussed on the Iris-window. The smoke retreated, and red-head half-fell back onto the bed before she blinked and stared at Annabeth.

"Did I just give…?"

"A prophecy," Annabeth confirmed. "As puzzling as the rest, too." Her brow creased as her brain instinctively tried to unravel any possible meaning. She did not like the timing of this prophecy, especially in light of the topic of their conversation.

Rachel sighed. "It's just as well I'm headed home tomorrow. Chiron will be so thrilled."

A loud crash from the kitchen seemed to reverberate against the walls. The Iris message window shook, and then dissipated. Instantly on guard, Rachel pocketed the crystal and inched towards the door.

"Jennie? Everything okay out there?" Rachel called. No one answered, and she hesitated before reaching for the door handle. As she started to slowly turn it, pounding feet down the short hall made her leap back into a crouching position beside the bed.

The door flung open wide, and Hala raced wildly into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Her silver jacket was torn on one shoulder, and a broken arrow was in her hand. Her dark hair fought to free itself from a usually tight braid, and she appeared out of breath. But it was the fear in Hala's dark eyes that shook Rachel.

"Oracle! We have to flee!"


	2. Chapter One

**C****HAPTER**** O****NE – I Get a Warm Welcome Back to Camp.**

"Hey Alexander! You prepared to die this summer?" yelled the son of Ares, as his posse of brainless muscle men roared with laughter. I rolled my eyes. If I died every time Rory Lewis told me to 'prepare', I'd be a miracle worthy of a statue on Mount Olympus by now. Instead of responding I just hefted my bag higher on my shoulder and trudged on towards my cabin.

Rory threw a few more incendiary comments at my back, but I kept walking because I knew he wouldn't follow. His words were just his way of welcoming me back to camp. You know that old saying, _'sticks and stones…'_? Yeah, well Rory's an expert in all of it. He likes to dish out the words first. Guaranteed the sticks and stones and celestial bronze weaponry will be doled out later. I suppose you could say that the child of war has some niceness in him, since he allows me at least an hour or two to settle back into camp before he tries to pummel me.

The poor guy's got to get some entertainment somehow. See, unlike me, Rory stays here all year. Some say it's because he's a powerful son of Ares so he would attract hordes of monsters. Rory boasts that it's to protect the monsters so there's still some for the rest of us weaklings to fight. I reckon he's forced to stay at Camp to protect the outside world from his rotten attitude.

My cabin's the low-slung building beside the horror film set that is the Ares cabin. Last year I had to sound-proof the windows just so I could get some sleep. Ares campers sing loudly and often, just not usually on key. As I opened the door a stray cobweb hit me in the face, evidence that this was a rarely occupied building. Just me, no one else.

After the last series of great prophecies, no new children of the Big Three had appeared. I guess on some deep level they had finally realized the kind of destruction their offspring were capable of. A handful of Big Three demigods in the world at any one time were more than enough. Hence, Cabin One and Thirteen were generally vacant; Cabin Three only got opened up when I arrived.

If I chose, Cabin Three could remain vacant as well. I did try a different cabin when I first came to camp, the summer before last. But it just felt awkward. I think Mom's still a bit disappointed, but Dad definitely understands.

I'd just thrown my bag to the floor and slumped onto one of the empty bunks when someone tapped at the door. I tugged it open only to be pounced on by a small girl with an impish brown pixie cut.

"When were you going to tell me you'd arrived?" she demanded.

I stifled a grin. "Maybe when I'd been here five minutes? How did you know I was back?"

She pointed her thumb in the direction of next door. "Heard the welcome mat rolled out. He's still not over being a jerk then?"

"Nah, it's genetically programmed into his DNA. Can you stop being a crazy brunette with a scary love of pointy sticks?" That comment earned me a fist to the shoulder. I should note that that took some talent, since she had to stretch up on tiptoes to reach my shoulder.

Okay, I should introduce you. The mad pixie is Linnet Eriksson. She's a daughter of Iris, but an oddball one. Her mother might be an advocate of peace and nutritious tasteless food, but Lin is wickedly scary with a spear in her hand.

Linnet was bouncing on the balls of her feet in my doorway. "Was there something specific you wanted, or can I go unpack now?" I asked her.

"Not really," she replied. I stared at her, slightly confused for a moment. "The something specific, I mean, not the unpacking," she clarified. "Though Cooper said to let you know that the first Capture the Flag is on Friday, and the deal is for the smaller cabins to take on the big ones. So it'll be Hermes, Ares, Athena and Hephaestus against the rest of us." She gave me a cheeky smile. "And I suppose I should tell you that I've volunteered us to guard the flag, so you've got nothing to fear; me and pointy friend will keep you nice and safe."

"And who says I can't keep myself safe?" I retorted. Lin didn't reply. She just gave me a quick squeezing hug (what is it with girls and hugs?), then waved her hand at me and raced back to join her cabin mates who were starting a basketball game against the Apollo cabin.

I shut the door and surveyed my cabin, trying to remember where I had put my helmet at the end of last summer. I was positive that I hadn't taken it home with me.

Don't be deceived by Linnet's rubbish talk. I'm not that bad at Capture the Flag. Last year she and I successfully defended our team's flag against a horde of Hermes campers, and I'm proud to say that I was the one who had to step in and defend her that time. No, she just likes to tease because that's how we became friends.

My first year at camp there was this debacle in the woods that saw no games taking place there. The nymphs were staging a protest calling for peaceful games that support the growth of healthy trees (or something along those lines). So my first Capture the Flag game was in my second summer when I was twelve years old. I'd rather not remember it, since it saw me hanging eight feet off the ground and upside down from a tree within ten minutes of the game starting. That was Rory Lewis' way of saying "Welcome back to Camp, loser!" Linnet cut me down and then the two of us fought off a particularly inquisitive hellhound. You can't not be friends after that.

Ah, got it! Helmet was under the rubbish can which was upturned on the top bunk by the wall. Don't ask.

* * *

><p>By the time lunch rolled around, and I had my cabin sorted ready for another summer, the Iris v. Apollo basketball match looked set to be to the death, each team determined to win or die of exhaustion. Since I didn't yet have a schedule, and breakfast seemed too long ago, I decided to head up to the pavilion to grab an early lunch and see if any of my other friends had arrived. I was rewarded with both a toasted sandwich and the sight of two familiar blonde heads deep in conversation at one of the tables.<p>

"Hey guys," I said, nudging them apart to sit between them.

"Alex, man, when'd you get in?" asked Oliver McGrath with a mouth half full of salad roll. I didn't get a chance to reply before his cabin-brother butted in.

"Skip the niceties, Ollie, you just don't want Alex to back me up," asserted Sam Flinders. He flourished a carrot stick in my face, as if expecting me to agree with him on principle. Sorry Sam, I learned the hard way never to do that again.

"Just what are you arguing about this time?" I asked. "Please tell me it's not still the debate over which series of _Doctor Who_ presented the most credible future realities."

The carrot stick flew across the table as Sam snorted at me. "Oh gods no, we've finished that debate, which for the record – I won." Ollie looked ready to object, but Sam pushed on, talking ten to the dozen in my ear.

I half tuned out, and concentrated on eating my lunch. I like the Athena guys, even if they tend to get a little too involved in their current brainiac passions. They're good company for lunch, and great to train with. I just couldn't stand sharing a cabin with them and their passions.

"Jackson," called Rory. I twisted around to stare at the Ares table. Did he follow me here? "When you're done with your little nerd boys over there, we've got a conversation of our own to finish."

I sighed. Really? We're going to have to go through all this again? Will there ever be a year when I can just come back to camp and all he'll have to say is "Hi Alex, how's your year been?"

Sam and Ollie were quiet, watching both Rory and I. Our history was by now infamous across the camp. Two years ago a conversation like this would have been the signal for everyone to duck for cover before the food and plates started flying. What can I say? I'm not proud of it. Last summer I just tried to avoid Rory, and I had planned on doing that again. It's just hard on the first day or two.

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say, Lewis. Since you've got a pretty limited vocab, I reckon I've heard everything you know three times over by now." I turned back to finish the last bites of my lunch.

I _felt_ the hairs on top of my head move when the knife flew over it to embed itself in a wooden column directly across from me. He's got great timing. Remember – I told you that Rory always allows me a couple of hours to settle.

I turned back around slowly to see Rory with another knife in his hand, and the biggest smirk on his face.

"See you in the arena, loser, after you've finished your last meal."

I stared back at my plate, fuming. This was getting ridiculous.

A hand rested on my shoulder. "You don't have to go," Sam said. "Nobody's going to care that you didn't show up to fight him."

"Yeah, but then he wins by default."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You really are a sucker for punishment. I mean, c'mon Alex – you're not a bad swordsman, but he's got size, strength and skill over you. It doesn't take Athena to see that you're not going to beat him."

"There's always a first time for everything," I replied. Hopefully even a first time for a miracle. I muttered a quick prayer to both of my immortal grandparents before getting up from the table. Time to get my rusty skills back into the summer action.

Before I could leave, I heard Oliver ask quietly, "Why does he have to be such a cretin to you all the time?"

"Because he doesn't think I should be here - I'm not a hero," I replied.

"Well, that's ridiculous," Sam scoffed.

I agreed, but in my heart I wonder. Is it?

* * *

><p>See, Camp Half-Blood is traditionally for the children of the Greek gods. When kids come to Camp they're quickly claimed by their godly parent and then they join the corresponding cabin. It usually happens around the age of twelve or thirteen. If you arrive earlier than that you might be doomed to spend some extended time in the Hermes cabin, and those guys don't understand the concept of bagging up your dirty laundry.<p>

The problem for me is that neither of my parents are gods. They're both demi-gods, and probably responsible for beginning a lot of odd new traditions. Like burying the animosity of their parents. Dad's a son of Poseidon, and Mom is a daughter of Athena. Traditionally those two gods fight like cats and dogs, but now they try to be civil with one another, at least during the Midsummer Council sessions.

The offspring of demi-gods are normally (in nearly 99.9% of cases) mortal children; the only special abilities they tend to possess are clear-sight and good athletic skills. They are definitely not children who require Camp training, since monsters are not interested in them. Actually, if you want to be completely accurate, (and my mom generally is), there's rarely a second generation. If demi-gods even make it to their 20th birthday they're lucky. Two demi-gods getting married? Forget it – they'd attract far too much monster attention. However, neither my mom nor my dad tend to play by the ordinary rules. They defied those unwritten laws to not only survive, but get married, forge careers in the mortal world, and have me.

I'm a freak – neither true demi-god nor run-of-the-mill mortal. I was six when a sphinx caused terror on the playground at school, and my parents realised that I'd inherited more than my dad's looks. It turns out there's another reason why Big Three children are rare – they have a tendency to pass their skills on to the next generation, with little dilution. My 'Uncle' Frank attests to that fact, as do my 'cousins', although none of them are here at Camp with me. Frank's Roman to the core, and the twins chose to stay in New Rome with their parents and join the Legion like their dad.

Mom and Dad offered me the choice. I could have joined the Twelfth Legion and been just another legacy in a place where they're run of the mill. But growing up there on and off had been enough to confirm that I wasn't made for a decade in an army.

So now I come to Camp Half-Blood every summer where even Chiron won't admit that he is not sure what to do with me. I spend my days training with Linnet and the Athena cabin, avoiding Rory and his brothers, and hanging out by the beach or in my cabin. And I love it. Maybe not so much the freak/not-a-demigod part, but my friends, and the training and the freedom.

* * *

><p>Sam must've told Linnet, because she burst in through my cabin door while I was fixing the loose straps on my armour. She didn't say anything, just stared at me for a moment, and then grabbed my sword to check its edge.<p>

She might not have said anything, but when Linnet isn't talking, you know there's a problem.

"I just need to get it over and done with," I answered her unspoken question. "He always challenges me, and I always answer it. It's kind of a tradition now. We say 'hi', beat the Hades out of each other, and then get on with the summer."

Lin pursed her lips, and held out my sword. "I don't like this tradition," she said. "And you know it wasn't always this way. Why can't you two just bury the hatchet and get over it."

I snatched my sword out of her hands. "Maybe it's not my hatchet to bury. Maybe he who threw it first should make the first move towards peace."

Her brown eyes grew sad at my harsh tone. "At least this time, could you bruise him just a little?"

I smiled wryly. "I'll try." She was still frowning at me as we headed towards the arena.

Inside my cabin I'd been concentrating so hard on remembering every move Dad had taught me, that I hadn't even paid attention to my weaponry. Now I glanced down at the sword in my hand and felt my pulse quicken in excitement. Mom recently gave this one to me; I'd seen it at home before, but never seen her use it since she prefers a sharp dagger. I already had a sword, but it was a fairly nondescript celestial bronze one without a name or history.

This one in my hand was something else. A drakon-bone sword is a rare treasure, and this one's history is pretty awe-inspiring. Mom called it 'Anamnesis', which means 'Remembrance'. Hopefully it could remember all its past battles with her and help me crush Rory today.

* * *

><p>Rory was waiting for me. He had already stretched, and was now swinging his sword in lazy figure-eights using one hand. His other hand gripped a sharp bronze dagger.<p>

Lin offered me a shield, but I shook my head. She frowned, and backed off muttering something about pig-headed boys. She can think what she likes, but since Rory wouldn't be using a shield I wouldn't either. I wasn't going to give him any more ammunition to call me a weak loser.

At least he was wearing a helmet, which was the Ares cabin's one concession to Camp rules about safety. Otherwise, in battle they considered any foul move a valid option, and the more danger involved the better.

Rory raised his eyebrows as we stood facing each other in the centre of the arena.

"Flashy equipment, Jackson. But don't think it will help you win."

I didn't say anything. Mom had always taught me to keep silent in a fight, because it gives your opposition less information about your weaknesses.

Too bad that wouldn't help here. I'm sure Rory has a full catalogue of all my weaknesses.

We circled each other a few times. The Ares boys were roaring encouragement for their head counsellor, while I could see Lin, Sam and Ollie cheering for me.

_Be patient – wait for him to strike first_, Dad's voice whispered in my head. I tried to block out the noise of the crowd and focus on Rory. I barely caught the slight twitch of his shoulder muscles as he got tired of dancing around, and swung his sword at my head.

I ducked out of the way and tried to quickly slash at his exposed back, but the manoeuvre felt wrong. I stumbled, and managed to dodge Rory's second sword blow just in time. My mistake was forgetting about his other weapon. His fist and dagger hilt connected with my helmet. My ears were ringing as the helmet rolled off the back of my head.

Gripping Anamnesis' hilt in two sweaty hands, I tried to reproduce the series of attacking thrusts Dad had drilled into me. But it was like my hands and brain just weren't connecting. Every move seemed to be a second or two out of phase, and Rory blocked me easily. His sword cut deep into my thigh, and then his dagger drew a long line down my right arm.

There were shouts of outrage from the large crowd of campers gathered. First blood should have been the end of the fight, but now I was wounded twice. From the corner of my eye I could see Sam holding a furious Linnet back, and a flash of silver as more people poured into the arena. But I shook the sights away. I could still do this. I just needed one good shot.

But before I knew it, my drakon-bone sword was flying across the arena, and a celestial bronze blade was scoring lightly across the base of my throat. I closed my eyes in shame. Another kill for the champion of Ares.

"That's enough!" A loud voice commanded. I heard hooves cantering across the arena, and opened my eyes to see the angry face of Chiron looming over me. He shouted at Rory about something to do with safety and respecting the lives of your fellow campers. I didn't hear too specifically. My ears were ringing again, and when I tried to stand up I felt dizzy. I looked down to see that my leg was bleeding pretty heavily, and there were drops of red falling from the cut on my arm. My throat stung like a nasty cat scratch.

I think I swore loudly when Sam tied a bandage tightly around my leg and then wrapped another around my arm. Linnet shoved a piece of ambrosia between my teeth.

"I told you to bruise _him_," she said angrily. I knew the tone of her voice was simply because she was worried about me, but right now I didn't want to hear it.

"Yeah, what happened out there?" Sam asked. "You looked like a newbie fighting a giant. I've seen you fight before, and that wasn't you, mate."

I could feel the embarrassment giving way to anger in myself. Anger that I was so easily beaten, and shamed in front of most of the camp. Anger that I had just proved what Rory had been saying all along: that I didn't really belong in a camp full of demigods. My head had cleared enough for me to push them both away and stand without help. I winced when I put weight on my leg. Without a word, I hobbled away. I wanted to be far away from the arena, the Ares cabin celebrations, and my friends. Lin tried to follow, protesting that I needed to go to the infirmary, but I waved her off angrily. When she halted with a hurt look on her face I got even angrier at myself.

There was a group of girls in silver clustered around the entrance. Great, just brilliant. The Hunters had arrived to witness my shame. Mom would hear about this before the day was over. A couple of them were blocking my exit and I pushed them aside roughly. I didn't want their pity or their help either.

* * *

><p>I limped to the edge of the forest, where the trees just about touch the sea. That thin strip of beach is not much use to anyone. The trees cast too much shade for the Apollo and Aphrodite campers to work on their tans. Rocks in the water stop kayaks and swimming. You can't even build a decent sandcastle there since you can't dig very deep before hitting roots. This is where I go to be alone.<p>

Normally I'll sit and stare out across the water, but today I didn't feel like being reminded of my dad. He wouldn't have lost today. If Dad had been fighting instead of me Rory would have hit the dirt before he could lift his sword. Mom would have had strategies for everything the son of Ares could throw at her. Maybe I should have gotten lessons from her too.

I slumped down into the sand, my back to the sea, and stared up at the dark trees. Lessons with Mom wouldn't have helped. I was a disaster in the kind of close combat that knife-fighting called for.

Maybe it wasn't too late to go west and join the Legion. Or I could try skipping training altogether. I could have a normal summer, and do what normal teenagers do. Hang out at the mall, go to the movies, and skateboard at the park. Clearly I wasn't cut out for the life of a hero, if I was regressing backwards in skills. It was a sad thought, but I think I peaked at twelve years old. The last two summers had been getting steadily worse, and now I hadn't even made it through the first day without disgracing myself so badly.

I realised I had left my mother's sword in the arena, and I was glad. I really didn't want to look at it right now. Why had the sword felt so wrong during the fight? I wasn't a brilliant swordsman, but with my old bronze sword I could usually hold my own against someone like Rory for far longer than I had today. It was almost like the sword was _fighting_ against me, rather than doing what I told it to, which is ridiculous, because a sword is just a tool.

I picked up a stone and hurled it at a tree, ignoring the nymph who peeled herself out of the branches long enough to shake a fist at me. I was debating how long to wait before I could sneak back in to camp and pack my bags unnoticed, when I spotted a shadow looming over me. Not unusual, except for the fact that it wasn't coming from the trees in front of me, but a spot _behind_ me.

I got to my knees and spun around in the sand, before toppling over as my wounded leg gave way.

A woman stood on the shore, gazing down at me with an expressionless face. She was clothed in a long white dress, the kind most fashionable about two thousand years ago in Athens. Her silver hair was bound loosely on her head with white bands. At first glance I thought she was old, but as I looked the multitude of wrinkles on her face smoothed out until I was staring at a woman perhaps younger than my mother.

Clearly a goddess, though I had no idea which one. Great, just when I thought this day couldn't possibly get any worse!

"Alexander Jackson," she said, and her voice sounded both old and young at the same time, like there was a slight echo to it. "I have been waiting for you."


End file.
